The Dream Cycle
by Ginger6
Summary: After a vehicular mishap, things change.
1. The Dream Cycle One: Gray

Disclaimer: The characters of Jarod and Miss Parker are not mine... blah... blah... blah. Not earning any money here; just entertaining the heck out of myself.  
  
Author's Note: This is a little exercise I did a few months back: four related short pieces set post-IotH that take place over the course of a couple weeks. I kind of like 'em so I thought I'd slap 'em up here.  
  
  
The Dream Cycle One: Gray  
  
By Ginger  
  
*Gray...*  
  
*Winter gray...*  
  
And such a long winter it was turning out to be, seemingly endless as it stretched from the harrowing events of early December all the way the to this dreary Thursday in mid-March, and showing no signs of retreat. For months she could feel its icy fingers on her skin, clawing at her, trying to reach inside. Not that it mattered, though, there was nothing there to disturb; she felt empty, used up.  
  
Such were her thoughts as, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of something, moving swiftly towards her from the right, and hit the brakes of the black sedan. She skidded on the slippery pavement, the light rain that fell earlier now freezing to a slick coating on the quiet back road she always took home, everything moving in slow motion as she heard the loud thud, followed by the crash of shattering glass. Only when she'd coasted to a stop diagonally across the narrow road did it register that she'd collided with something. And that something was a deer.  
  
A large deer, a buck now sprawled on the hood, his twitching head making his large, vine-like antlers jerk uncomfortably close to her face. The windshield was all but gone; she was showered with glass. She swallowed hard and swiftly unbuckled her seatbelt, trying the door and exhaling with relief when it opened. She carefully slid out of the driver's seat and stood frozen for a moment, staring at the nauseating scene before her. He was still alive. *Fuck.*  
  
He emitted small, labored grunts as his chest heaved, steam rising from his quivering nostrils and mouth as he fought for breath. His neck was craned in an unnatural position, probably broken, and his lungs were more than likely collapsed by the impact. He would either slowly suffocate as his breathing grew increasingly shallow, or drown as his chest cavity filled with blood. Either way, it wouldn't be pleasant.  
  
She met the doomed beast's eyes, big brown eyes with thick, dark lashes. She shuddered, turning away as she was reminded of the only image that made her feel anything these days.  
  
*Dark eyes...*  
  
*Soulful eyes...*  
  
*Pleading eyes...*  
  
*Fuck.*  
  
She walked around to the passenger side and opened the door, reaching into the glove compartment to retrieve something. She walked back around the car and, again meeting the creature's agonizingly beautiful eyes, raised her gun and fired once, the bullet piercing a spot right between them. No more grunts of pain. No more steam rising from his nose and mouth. Only silence as a light snow began to fall, white flakes making a stark if fleeting contrast with the rich brown of his coat before quickly melting away on his still-warm body.  
  
She had no idea how long she stood there, arms raised, staring at the corpse on the hood of the now wrecked car. With a sigh, she slowly lowered her arms and crouched down then raised her head to look heavenward, blinking at the snowflakes that fell on her face, adding moisture to cheeks already dampened by tears she hadn't even realized were shed.  
  
"AREN'T WE GETTING A LITTLE HEAVY HANDED WITH THE SYMBOLISM?"  
  
She shouted at the sky then dropped her head, laughing bitterly as she reached up to brush aside the curtain of hair that had fallen into her face. Wincing, she pulled her hand away from her forehead to find her fingers stained red.  
  
"Perfect," she muttered then stood and ambled over to the passenger side of the car.   
  
Absently dropping the gun onto the seat, she reached in to retrieve another item, her cell phone. She hit auto-dial and a number, drawing her free arm tightly around her waist and rocking slightly on her heels as she held the phone to her ear and waited. She was cold. It was cold, very cold. And gray.  
  
# # # # 


	2. The Dream Cycle Two: Fitful Sleep

The Dream Cycle Two: Fitful Sleep  
  
By Ginger  
  
*Gasping...*  
  
*Her chest heavy...*  
  
*Heaving...*  
  
*Building panic...*  
  
*Fighting for breath...*  
  
*Can't breathe...*  
  
*Blind terror...*  
  
Her eyes snapped open, wide and staring as she continued to gasp, swallowing air in big gulps to no avail because she still couldn't catch her breath. She bolted upright in bed, blinking and sucking in air, trying desperately to make her heart rate slow to something approaching a normal rhythm. But the tightness in her chest, like a vice squeezing her heart and lungs, would not abate.  
  
It was the room. There was no air in the room. She threw off the covers and lunged from bed, charging to the door and yanking it open. Once in the hall, she felt her lungs begin to fill but not enough, not nearly enough. Reaching the stairs, she practically took them two at a time, desperate to get to the first floor. There would be more air down there. She would be able to breathe. It would be okay.  
  
It had to be.  
  
Fifth night in a row, she thought as she sat on the couch in darkness and struggled to bring her breathing under control, just as she had every night since the accident with the deer. A lifelong veteran of nightmares, she shuddered to think what she could possibly be dreaming that was so horrible as to awaken her in such a state, and unable to remember anything about it.  
  
*"Are you alright?"*  
  
She had half expected a call that first night, having long abandoned the pointless exercise of pondering how the hell he knew everything that happened to her as soon as it happened and sometimes, it seemed, even before.  
  
*"Why does everyone keep asking me that? No, I am not alright! I haven't been alright in a very long time, if ever! And I consider it highly unlikely that I will ever be alright again!"*  
  
She'd heard that sigh, the one that told her too much, too much she shouldn't know: that his patience was infinite, his concern genuine, his understanding complete like no one else's ever would or could be.  
  
*"I was referring specifically to the laceration on your forehead."*  
  
She hated the weariness that had crept incrementally into his voice since that first late-night conversation, years, and what now seemed like a lifetime, ago. For him, it was. He was getting tired, growing cynical. It was to be expected, she supposed, that he couldn't maintain that joie de vivre he'd felt immediately after his escape. Everything was so new and exciting back then and that was bound to wear off, leaving him to view the world more realistically and, therefore, more critically. It made complete sense but that didn't stop her from hating it.  
  
*"It's right at my hairline and Syd patched me up so it should be fine, although he was plenty ticked off that I refused to go to the hospital. Then again, Raines was the last person he sutured and look at him."*  
  
Even the small chuckle he'd emitted sounded tired. He wasn't sleeping either, but then, that was nothing new. Maybe it was just finally catching up with him.  
  
*"Are you sure it was really an accident?"*  
  
*"Unless they're now training an elite team of deer assassins to hurl themselves in my path, then I guess it was."*  
  
It had been her turn to expel a pathetic chuckle at the fact that her words should have sounded a lot more preposterous than they did. Hanging up, she'd spent the rest of the night drinking scotch and musing about the darkly comical aspects of her life.  
  
*"You're awake..."*  
  
*"And?"*  
  
*"At this hour... two nights in a row."*  
  
*"So? If it's a crime, call a cop."*  
  
She'd been faintly amused at his surprise to find her again wide-awake on the second night. There had been a hint of disappointment in his voice, as if he'd been deprived of the inalienable right of waking her from a sound sleep at 3:00 a.m. The surprise was gone the night after that.  
  
*"You appear to have adopted my sleep patterns... not one of my better habits."*  
  
*"Well, I wasn't likely to pick up one of your better habits, was I?"*  
  
By the fourth night, concern had crept into his voice.  
  
*"You're having nightmares."*  
  
It had been a statement of fact, not a question. She'd had no inclination to share her nighttime adventures but hadn't bothered to prevaricate. There was no point in wasting the energy; he'd have seen right through her.  
  
*"What are you dreaming about?"*  
  
*"Don't know. Don't want to know. What difference does it make? I can't imagine how it could possibly be worse than the reality I face when I'm wide-awake. Daddy's gone and that monster is my father."*  
  
She had not shared the part about the inability to breathe, figuring it was none of his damned business. But now the phone was ringing and she still hadn't caught her breath. Either he was calling earlier than usual tonight or she'd awaken later. Just let it ring, she thought. But she could no more do that than keep herself from sucking in the next mouthful of air.  
  
"I... don't... it's..."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Can't... breathe... I... wake... up... and... can't... breathe."  
  
"Night terrors... an anxiety attack. You'll be fine. You are breathing. Steady now... even breaths... you're okay... that's good... very good... there you go... you're okay... you'll be fine... just fine."  
  
She focused on his soothing voice and calm, even breaths until her own breathing became calm and even, the weight completely disappeared from her chest, and her heart rate returned to normal.  
  
"Thank you," she whispered.  
  
"Anytime," he whispered back before hanging up.  
  
# # # # 


	3. The Dream Cycle Three: Peaceful Slumber

The Dream Cycle Three: Peaceful Slumber  
  
By Ginger  
  
She shivered, well and truly soaked to the skin. A cold, hard rain fell, a fitting end to a cold, hard day, rounding out a miserable week. At least it was Friday. She'd have almost two full days to rest. There had been little rest in over a week. Virtually none. She was so tired it hurt. So badly, in fact, it was starting to get to her. Not like her, she mused. She could usually take pain but this... this was agony... torture. If she didn't rest she feared she might lose her mind. And that would most definitely not do. Her life had little meaning or value of its own, but it did stand as a buffer between those to whom she'd inadvertently grown attached and oblivion. So there was really no choice in the matter, she needed to rest. She needed to rest more than she could recall ever needing anything before.  
  
And that's what had brought her here, an all-consuming need. That need had made her turn left instead of right at the four-way intersection in the center of town to head away from, rather than towards, her home. It had compelled her to drive without stopping until she had crossed the bridge into New Jersey, and to keep right on driving, traversing the state south to north until she had simply run out of state altogether, ultimately stopping in this city on the banks of the Hudson River. Above everything else, it had forced her to finally acknowledge what the little voice in her head had been telling her for months, maybe years, maybe right from the beginning.  
  
Although it had been raining all day at home too, she hadn't brought an umbrella. She had gotten into and out of her car in garages so it hadn't been necessary. But here in this big city parking was at a premium, so she had to walk several blocks in the driving rain. The old brick warehouse was the last of its kind in a neighborhood that had recently gentrified after years of neglect, when someone finally noticed that it was literally a river's crossing from Manhattan and featured a dramatic view of the skyline. Reaching the main entrance, she tried the door and frowned at the sight of the buzzer and intercom. Tacked to the door was a sign printed in brightly colored ink, which she squinted to read in the faint light cast by a nearby street lamp.  
  
*Thanks to the incredible efforts of our wonderful friends and neighbors, and with the miraculous assistance of our guardian angel, we have been victorious in our struggle to protect this precious community resource! This time it's the developers who will have to look elsewhere! All yoga, dance, and art classes will resume on April 15th and we look forward to seeing you then!*  
  
*Your friends and neighbors at the Jersey City Arts Council*  
  
She sighed then turned to glance across the river at the scarred skyline of lower Manhattan, now defined as much by what was missing as by what remained. Shutting her eyes tightly for an instant, she attempted to reconstruct it in her mind the way it used to be but couldn't. Maybe she should live here, she thought, it would suit her.  
  
Dipping into the pocket of her pitifully inadequate, drenched overcoat, she retrieved a small flashlight then walked around to the back of the building, which wasn't visible to the street with its persistent vehicle traffic and, even in this weather, occasional pedestrian. Slowly strolling along the rear wall and shining the light onto a row of basement windows, she was grateful if not surprised to find one with a large, diagonal crack in it. Sorry folks, she thought wryly as she stopped, placed the flashlight between her teeth, and hastily shrugged out of her coat.  
  
*Looks like there'll be another chore for that "guardian angel" of yours.*  
  
* * * *  
  
It had been a long trek up five flights when she finally reached the door she needed to open in order to expose the threshold she needed to cross. The cavernous, mostly empty from what she could discern, building wasn't much, if any, warmer than the outside. The flashlight she once again held between her teeth was the only thing that kept them from chattering as she effortlessly picked the ironically simple lock on the large, imposing metal door.  
  
Stepping quietly inside, she heard a soft sound that sent a current of warmth throughout her body. The room itself was warm. It must be heated separately, she thought as she closed the door gently behind her then switched off the flashlight she no longer needed thanks to the dim light thrown by a floor lamp in a far corner. Moving further into the room, she glanced into a darkened doorway leading to a bathroom, stopping there to peel off her coat, letting it fall to the floor before dropping her flashlight onto it, and stepping out of her soaked shoes. She heard the noise again and inhaled deeply, slowly turning and directing her gaze to fall upon its source. She expelled the breath, a tiny hint of a smile gracing her lips. The cold was already beginning to retreat. It was now within her reach, the rest she so badly needed. The peace she so desperately desired.  
  
He lay sprawled on his back on the roomy mattress set directly on the floor. He had fallen asleep in his clothes, as she imagined he had on countless occasions, although he was barefoot, the button to his fly was undone, and his shirt was unbuttoned and lying open. Perhaps, she mused, he had started to undress when exhaustion had overtaken him. His left arm had come to rest above his head, his right arm on his chest with his hand directly over his heart. She smiled sadly when she noticed the item clutched tightly in it, a cell phone. Tonight he wouldn't need it.  
  
*I'm right here.*  
  
As she made her way silently to him, he murmured the word "breathe" for the third time since she'd entered the room then opened his eyes suddenly. They immediately widened with surprise, then fear as he watched her slowly approach him. That passed quickly, her rain-soaked appearance and peculiar demeanor registering as he foisted himself onto his elbows, a look of total incomprehension on his face as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. She could tell that he wasn't entirely convinced of his own consciousness; maybe he was still asleep, dreaming her. When she reached the mattress, he looked as though he were about to say something.  
  
"Shhh..."   
  
Silencing him, she commenced artlessly unbuttoning and removing her blouse. It felt good to be free of the clammy, wet garment that had clung uncomfortably to her skin. Her pants swiftly joined it on the floor beside her, leaving her to stand before him in her underwear. She shivered again, her skin retaining the damp from the saturated clothing she'd shed. He swallowed hard and made a move to get up but she leaned forward and placed her hands firmly on his shoulders, stopping him.  
  
"I thought... maybe... I... should get you a towel," he explained sounding almost shy as he watched her hover, half-naked, above him.  
  
"I don't need a towel," she replied, gazing knowingly into his eyes.  
  
He inhaled sharply and made a slight movement with his head, maybe it was a nod, she wasn't sure, then shuffled over to make room and pull the covers back, tenderly tucking them around her when she climbed in beside him. She watched in contented silence as, without getting up, he shed his shirt and shimmied out of his jeans to join her in the warm refuge beneath the blankets.  
  
They simultaneously reached for one another, slithering into an embrace. Feeling a chilly dampness against his chest, he pulled back just enough to unhook and remove her bra, without seeking permission because he knew it wasn't necessary. Then he pulled her tightly to him and, brushing aside her hair, looked at the spot from which his mentor had removed stitches the day before. He placed a gentle kiss to it then whispered,  
  
"Sydney was right; it's healed up nicely."  
  
She said nothing but nodded lazily against him. She had what she needed; to be with the man who, like her, had a past he couldn't seem to overcome and a future over which he appeared wholly incapable of exercising any control. This probably didn't change any of that but at least she... they... could rest. And so it began to overtake her: his warm breath against her hair, his heart beating rhythmically against her chest, his strong body surrounding hers, all lulling her into a deep, peaceful slumber.  
  
# # # # 


	4. The Dream Cycle Four: Natural Light

The Dream Cycle Four: Natural Light  
  
By Ginger  
  
She emitted a small gasp and opened her eyes, blinking at the light streaming into the room, natural light casting everything in a warm, amber glow. Her eyes adjusting, she gazed thoughtfully up at the high ceiling and whispered a soft but weighty, "huh."  
  
*So THAT'S it...*  
  
She might have pondered her realization longer only, glancing at her wristwatch, it occurred to her that she hadn't emptied her bladder in something approaching eighteen hours. And she needed to... urgently. It was only when she tried to raise herself off the mattress that she became conscious of an obstacle, an arm draped across her waist. Then it registered: breathing, soft and even, beside her. She turned her head slowly and smiled lazily.  
  
His eyelids fluttered as he lay on his side facing her, one arm bent and tucked under his pillow, the other stretched over her body. He was dead to the world, off in that far away land of sleep. He looked peaceful and so very beautiful: those fluttering eyelids with their absurdly thick, dark lashes, that exasperatingly tempting birthmark, those slightly upturned lips, and that stubbly chin. Oh yeah, she reminded herself, I have to pee.  
  
So she slid carefully out from under his arm and off the mattress, her bottom coming to rest softly on the floor. Must be a studio of some kind, she thought as she looked around and noticed for the first time how different this room was from what she'd seen of the rest of the decrepit industrial building. The walls were painted a soothing shade of white instead of drab gray; varnished oak wood planks covered the concrete; long, sheer, gauzy curtains hung over the tall windows instead of metal grating.  
  
And here she was, sitting on the floor, wearing only her underpants and still having to piss like a racehorse. She shook her head then stood up and carefully leaned over the mattress to pluck his discarded shirt from where it lay near his feet, pulling it on and wrapping it around her but not bothering with the buttons as she made a beeline for the bathroom.  
  
When she returned, she was rather expecting to find him awake but he wasn't. In fact he hadn't moved a muscle. She ambled over to the floor lamp made redundant by the sunlight pouring into the room and switched it off. She imagined he always slept with a light on, when he slept at all. He wouldn't be comfortable in total darkness.  
  
Amazing the things she knew about him. He'd managed to seep in gradually over the years. Or maybe he'd always been there, she mused with a sigh as she closed her eyes and tilted her head up to feel the sun's warmth on her face. Knowing him was ostensibly what had gotten her into this mess in the first place, or so went the theory anyway. But they couldn't possibly realize how well she knew him because if they did, then they'd realize what she'd only recently admitted to herself: that her failure to meet the clearly stated objective of her job - day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year - had been more or less intentional. Obviously they hadn't realized because if they had, then she wouldn't be here. She wouldn't be anywhere because she'd be dead.  
  
Remarkably, in spite of everything that had come to pass, she was indeed alive and, for the first time in recent memory, didn't feel half-bad. She'd enjoyed several hours of uninterrupted, if not entirely dreamless, sleep. Not that she couldn't do with more and planned to. Letting the shirt drop open, she rubbed her bare belly, thinking she could also do with a meal of some kind, not even attempting to recall when she'd last eaten.  
  
Shaken from her reverie by a soft sound behind her, she turned to see that he had flopped onto his back but was still sound asleep. She sighed, thinking she only had ten days worth of insomnia to sleep off; the poor boy had a lifetime's worth. She padded quietly to the foot of the mattress and, letting her gaze fall upon his sleeping form, couldn't help but emit a small hum of approbation.  
  
*Golden boy...*  
  
Bathed in natural light, he appeared to her like a sleeping angel from the Renaissance. Not one of those benign, sexless, cherubic creatures but a powerful warrior, decidedly male, enjoying a much-deserved rest after battling Satan and his minions.  
  
*An archangel...*  
  
And Michelangelo himself could not have done better. Her eyes roamed languorously up his strong arms, over his powerful shoulders, and across his beautiful torso. She took in the long, lean leg now poking out from beneath the blankets covering his lower half before returning to that perfectly muscular chest bearing just enough hair, the patch narrowing at that flawlessly sculpted abdomen into an enticing little trail leading to...  
  
Crouching down and biting her lip, she carefully pulled the blankets off of and away from his body. He stirred slightly but didn't wake. Grinning at the sight of him sprawled on his back before her wearing only his underwear, she climbed onto the mattress, straddling his legs and walking up his body. Stopping at what she deemed a suitable point and kneeling astride him, she took another moment to contemplate him then leaned in to breathe him in, her hair tumbling forward to tickle his chest. He made a soft noise, still trapped in a web of slumber.  
  
She touched him, tentatively at first, just the tips of her fingers brushing his pleasingly warm skin, feather light strokes along the insides of his arms, his chest and belly. He turned his head slowly, treading against a tide of sleep, and murmured incoherently. Her caresses grew bolder; she raked her fingernails gently across his flesh from his shoulders down to his navel then up to the sides of his ribcage where, if she remembered correctly, he was ticklish. He moaned and she glanced up to see an adorable mixture of bliss and bewilderment on his face, as though he'd been initially certain he were dreaming but, as he approached consciousness, wasn't so sure anymore. His eyes fluttered open for an instant then closed again. She grinned as it occurred to her that if he thought was dreaming then...  
  
*Maybe you've had this dream before, you naughty boy.*  
  
He was definitely waking up, well, parts of him anyway. Moving down his body, she pressed a knee between his then settled between the legs that parted easily at her behest and began stroking and tickling the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs. He again murmured something and this time she understood what it was. She knew the history, the things he'd experienced since his escape; it was all there in black and white in neatly kept files in well-organized cabinets in her office. There were at least a couple names that might have come up under the circumstances. He was still half-asleep, after all. What she'd heard was her own name, her *first* name.  
  
A wave of tender gratitude swept over her and she leaned forward to press hot, wet kisses to his chest, blazing a trail to his belly button before flicking her tongue into the sweet little crevice. He groaned and she felt him surge against her, his hand sliding into her hair. Reveling in the sensation of his body awakening beneath her touch, she looked up to find his eyes open and fully meeting hers for the first time. They were heavy with sleep and dark with arousal but were also questioning and conveyed a hint of fear, which only fueled her resolve.  
  
*Sure, you've had experiences but you've never experienced ME.*  
  
She sat back on her heels and glanced pointedly at the tent in his boxers, quirking an eyebrow. He reached for her but she shook her head vigorously, casting him a stern look before making a show of peeling off the borrowed shirt. His eyes flashed with excitement; his bobbing Adam's apple told her that his mouth had gone dry. Smiling confidently, for that's truly how she felt, she slipped her hands into the waistband of his shorts, tugging to signal her desire for his cooperation. Sucking in a sharp breath he complied, raising his hips so she could slip his boxers down over his slim hips and, by shimmying down the mattress, completely off. Carelessly tossing them aside she clambered back up the mattress to retake her position between his legs.  
  
Her eyes locked on his, she took him, warm and hard and weeping, into her hand and stroked once... twice... a third time then brazenly licked her lips. He groaned, his eyes narrowing. Then he looked as though he were about to speak so she pressed a finger to her lips, dissuading him. Later... they'd talk later. She was alive and rested and feeling good and all she wanted, all she needed, at that moment was to touch, to taste, to please.  
  
And so she did, sinking down to take him into her mouth while her hands explored his most sensitive, intimate treasures. She tickled, teased, and tortured, taking infinite pleasure in his delicious gasps and moans until he clutched helplessly at the bottom sheet and begged for release, his desperate pleas music to her ears. Granting his wish, she was grateful for the sun's illuminating power, watching in contentment as those big brown eyes rolled back in his head, ecstasy crashing down upon him and cascading across his handsome face. He was so very beautiful in natural light... the golden boy... her angel.  
  
Stretching out beside him she molded her body to his and placed one hand tenderly over his heart. As he recovered, his expression became one of complete relaxation; his eyelids grew heavy. She thought he was on the verge of drifting off again when he perked up suddenly, grinning goofily then pulling her into a crushing embrace and kissing her, passionately, lingeringly, and for the next several hours.  
  
He kissed her as he gleefully removed her underpants to take his turn teasing her to frenzy then bringing her to glorious climax. He kissed her as he entered her body for the first time, and the second, and the third. Even hours later when they were both too tired to move, he continued to press sweet little kisses to her forehead, eyelids, nose, cheeks, and wherever he could reach as she dozed against him.  
  
And later still, when the growling of her stomach awoke them both, prompting him to hastily dress and literally run out in search of food, he returned quicker than she'd have imagined humanly possible with the best authentic New York-style deli she'd ever tasted. He undressed immediately upon his return, as if eating dinner fully clothed were a preposterous thing to do, and joined her on the mattress for a picnic, kissing her between mouthfuls and sips of Dr. Brown's Cream Soda. It was during their meal that she remembered the epiphany she'd begun her day with and told him about it.  
  
It was the dream; she knew what she'd been dreaming since the accident. It was springtime and she was running through the woods. She laughed at his bemused expression, acknowledging that she was not, in general, a running around in the woods type of gal, unless, of course, she was chasing him.  
  
"I dreamt I was HIM," she explained. "The deer."  
  
He grimaced and took her hand, assuming that she'd been dreaming of the accident.  
  
"No," she clarified. "It wasn't about THAT. It was spring, not winter and I didn't dream about his death, I dreamt about his life, what it felt like to be him...what it felt like to be..." She smiled. "Free."  
  
Smiling back at her, he asked softly, "So, how does it feel?"  
  
"Wonderful," she sighed, leaning in to kiss him.  
  
# # # # 


End file.
